


Washed My Hands of That for This

by 3988Akasha



Series: Chicago [9]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 18:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13769970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3988Akasha/pseuds/3988Akasha
Summary: Miles and Bass finally get time to themselves without being interrupted.A person from Miles' past comes back, and lays some harsh truth on the newly returned Commanding General.





	Washed My Hands of That for This

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't expect to have more this soon, but the weather is crappy so writing happened. 
> 
> I also always liked Alec and wanted to explore that relationship a bit more.

“God,” Miles breathed against Bass’ neck. “If you’re this tight, I’m not fucking you enough.”

“You’ve only yourself to blame, Miles. You know I won’t say no.” 

“Shut up. I’ve been a little busy.”

Miles pushed himself deeper, enjoying the way his body slid against the sweat lingering on Bass’ skin. If he didn’t have to rule the world, he’d spend every second of his life just like this. Or maybe like earlier when he’d finger fucked Bass until he cried out, come splattering on his stomach. Or when he’d licked him clean, and thrust his tongue between Bass’ parted lips, mingling their taste on his tongue. 

Moving his hands from their place on Bass’ hips, Miles draped himself over Bass, linking their fingers together near the headboard. His tongue snaked out to taste his skin, to feel it shiver beneath his touch. Every single inch of his skin slid along Bass’. He could feel his balls tighten, but he wanted to draw it out, wanted to keep lazily thrusting into the perfect body beneath him forever. In Chicago, he’d dreamed about this. About the feel of Bass’ body, the way his eyes would cloud over with lust, the boneless way he’d just stay on the bed, perfectly content not to move. Often he woke from those pleasant dreams in a cold sweat, heart hammering in his chest, despair nipping at his heels, self-loathing rending his heart to shreds. On rare occasions, he’d be able to bring himself off, the images and sounds lingering in his mind. Sometimes he’d manage a softly whispered Bass. Sometimes he reached for the bottle on his nightstand and drank the demons away. 

He felt Bass press a kiss to his arm, felt his tongue slide along the skin, taking salt-tinged sweat along with whatever flavor his skin had. He knew how Bass tasted; the warm, earthy notes tinged with a dark caramel. He nuzzled closer to Bass’ neck, taking in the smell he knew had lingered for months after he’d run away from everything he’d created. 

They’d never been religious men, but after a few months in a warzone, listening to the field chaplain talk about something resembling hope held some appeal, especially when it escused them from extra patrols. After, they’d talked about the sermon because it was something new to discuss, something that didn’t involve troop movements, late supplies, or insurgents sneaking around their camp. Mostly, Bass told him about how he believed God was an absent father to a disenchanted son. Miles understood that idea now. He hadn’t then. 

“Miles, please,” Bass breathed against his skin. 

With a lingering kiss to the back of his neck, Miles pulled himself back, and once more grabbed Bass by the hips. He sat back, hearing the high whine in Bass’ voice; he held himself there, barely in, a tease. Bass’ hands clutched the sheet in spasms, and just when he knew Bass was going to turn his head and demand it, Miles thrust his hips forward roughly. 

“Fuck.” 

Miles smiled to himself before the intense heat of Bass’ body had him choking back a moan. 

“Fuking bastard. Let me finish already.” 

His laugh was teasing, but dark with promise. His hips continued to thrust forward, but as he gazed down at Bass’ tightly muscled back, he realized it wasn’t enough. With a pained groan, Miles pulled out. Before Bass could do more than glare, Miles had him flipped over and spread out beneath him. 

“I need to see you.”

Bass’ face softened as he nodded. It still caught him off guard sometimes, how well Bass knew him. How well Bass had always known him. The first time they’d kissed it’d been sloppy, ridiculous and something Bass knew was coming. He also somehow knew how nervous Miles was about the whole thing; convinced he’d screw it all up. After their teeth had clanged together, and Miles nicked his tongue on Bass’ newest set of braces, he’d pulled back, mortified. Bass though, he’d had a stupid smile on his face and told Miles that’s exactly what he’d expected. Then assured him that they’d get better at it. They’d spend the next couple of hours practicing. 

Miles slowly pushed himself back in, feeling the way Bass gripped him as he bottomed out. Bass’ legs locked around him, a silent promise to keep him there, keep them intimately connected forever. He began a steady pace, and reached down to stroke Bass in time with his thrusts, adding a little twist at the end, just to watch Bass shift beneath him. The pressure built steadily, Miles locked his eyes on Bass, refused to look away, to close them. This moment, this feeling was real. Yet, he felt that if he closed his eyes it could all disappear. He couldn’t look away, not ever again. Bass held his gaze, the look in them knowing as he reached up to cup Miles’ face, offering a comfort Miles didn’t deserve. 

He increased his pace, squeezed Bass just this side of too much as he felt his own balls draw up, saw the way Bass’ face morphed into bliss as the wetness spread between his fingers. It spread around more as Miles worked him down gently, feeling his own release shock through his system. After, he paused, experiencing another moment perfectly suspended in time. Bass laid out beneath him, eyes soft with afterglow, cheeks a bright pink, lips parted as he worked to catch his breath. He’d almost lost this forever. 

“You always make things so difficult.” Bass, the fucking mind reader, cupped Miles’ face. “I love you, you bastard.” 

Miles turned his face and pressed a kiss to Bass’ palm. He pulled Bass to him, ghosted a kiss to his lips. His eyes squeezed closed, the lingering image of Bass’ blue eyes hovering behind his eyelids. 

“You’re everything to me,” Miles mumbled against his lips.

The kiss remained a gentle brush of lips. Miles rested his forehead against Bass’, breathing the same breath. 

“I’m going to grab a towel, and you’re not going to talk me out of it. We  _ always _ get interrupted.” 

Bass laughed as Miles rolled out of bed. He came back with a towel; gently, he cleaned them both up before throwing another log on the fire, extinguishing the lantern, and crawling back into bed. Miles pulled Bass into his arms, his nose running along the curls at the base of his neck. 

“I’m glad you had your boots off this time, Miles.”

“Go to sleep, Bass.” 

They were not interrupted in the morning, much to Bass’ amusement, but both were happy to wake up without uncomfortable sticky patches on their skin, or the sheets dried to their bodies. Jeremy came in early to take Bass out to look at new supply lines, something about getting trains up and moving. Miles rolled his eyes, but since finally accepted that his family did know something about the power, he figured Bass would probably figure out how to make their trains work. It left him alone for the first time since he’d been back. The weeks that bled into months, had all passed with Bass by his side. He knew it was stupid to miss his presence, knew they were more efficient when they were able to split duties between them. Knowing things didn’t keep Miles from feeling things. And, he missed Bass. 

He looked at the paper in front of him, the pen dangling from his fingers. His list was long. They had so much to figure out, so many steps to orchestrate, so many pieces to move. Rachel knew something about the power. Aaron, whoever he hell he was, knew something; Ben had told him something. Charlie was a wildcard. Nora - he pinched the bridge of his nose. If Strausser, fucking Strausser, hadn’t killed Mia maybe he’d have more options, but if she was working with the rebels the options were limited. Danny, well, he’d surprised him. The kid was shaping up to be a good soldier. The reports from the training officers, including Jeremy and Tom, had been positive. Tom had been more critical than the others, but it was his job. Tom. Miles stood from the desk. Just like he knew it wasn’t logical to miss Bass, he knew it wasn’t logical to blame Tom for Ben’s death. The man hadn’t pulled the trigger, hadn’t ordered his execution. Before he’d left, Tom had been one of the best. Probably still was one of the best. He’d make a decision about Tom after the graduation ceremony that was a little over a week away. 

The brass would all be back in town then; those who had become Bass’ senior aides would want their pound of flesh. He didn’t expect everyone to be happy to have him back, especially those who would now have lower status. The ones who knew if they did the same thing, they’d be shot on sight. Part of him kept waiting for Jeremy or Tom to make a move, to confront him about it more directly. Sure, Jeremy took a swing at him, but they hadn’t talked about it yet, and Jeremy, he liked to talk. Maybe Bass was right; maybe he just needed to stop letting himself feel guilty about it and just do his damn job. If it walked like a general and talked like a general, it’d probably be a general. 

He heard commotion outside the door and rolled his eyes when he heard it open without a knock. 

“Jeremy, I told you to knock.” Miles turned, a half grin on his face. 

“Miles.”

“You’re not Jeremy.” 

Miles froze. Didn’t know quite how to react. He had another vague feeling that if he blinked the image in front of him would vanish. Maybe he was dreaming. Next time he’d pour the good stuff in his coffee, not the shit that apparently gave him hallucinations. 

“No, but, he was eager to tell me you’d returned to us.” 

“Alec?”

Alec smiled, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders relaxed. “I would have thought Monroe would have told you I’d come back.” 

“He did.” 

“I also heard there’s a big celebration coming up soon. New class of recruits. Word is one of the boys is family.” 

“My nephew, Danny.” 

“You’ll need this back then,” Alec said as he pulled the knife from his belt. 

Miles stood frozen as Alec approached him, knife held out in offering. Memories of that night in the bar came flooding back to him. Things had been simpler then, still awful, everything about this new world was awful, but simpler. More two dimensional, at least he’d thought so. Who was he trying to kid. They were probably just as complicated back then, but he’d chosen to ignore it. Mission first. Republic above everything, and everyone else. 

“Alec - ”

“You were right, you know? This thing is damn lucky; brought me back. At first, I thought it was only a Matheson thing, you know? Like it worked for your daddy and granddaddy because you were Mathesons. Then, in Texas, once I stopped hating you, I realized I wasn’t dead. Took me awhile to figure things out for myself. To remember that the mission is what matters, the Republic.” 

Miles swallowed, fought the urge to shift. Being in front of Alec again made him feel things he hadn’t felt in years. He’d stayed away from Danny’s training, kept himself apart from it because Alec lurked in the back of his mind. A reminder of his success, his failure, his betrayal. 

“Yeah, well, I was wrong.” 

Alec stopped moving; he tilted to the side as though trying to puzzle out something important. “See, that doesn’t sound like the General Matheson I remember.” 

That made his eyes shift around the room, an uneasy feeling grew in his gut, choking him. He knew the man Alec remembered. The man who took his brother’s wife, held her for information. The man his brother called a monster. The man who turned Danny into a killer. The man who traded the closest thing he’d have to a son for peace. 

“I’m trying...really hard not to be him.” 

“No,” Alec spat the word. “You don’t get to do that. You were right. You had to give me up or it would have meant war.” 

“The General Matheson you remember, he enjoyed war.” 

“He enjoyed a war he could  _ win _ . Texas wasn’t that war. Not with Georgia on our border. President Foster wanted blood. Texas would have allied with her and wiped the Monroe Republic from the map. You knew that then. I know that now.” 

“I should have protected you.” 

“You trusted me with a mission. With something important. You couldn’t do that and protect me at the same time, and honestly, I’d rather have your trust than your protection. You taught me everything you know. Same as you did Jeremy, and Tom. Same as you will this nephew of yours, Danny.” 

“Texas - ”

“They forgot about me pretty quickly. Realized you weren’t going to come back for me. Eventually, I was able to move around a bit more. Kept my head down, watched everything. Waited.” 

“Bass told me Blanchard died.”  

“He did.”

Miles crossed his arms, a small smirk on his lips. “How?”

“They said natural causes.”

“They did?”

“Mmhm. Organ failure.” 

“I didn’t teach you that.”

Alec smiled. “No, you didn’t. Texas had a trade agreement with California for a while. It didn’t last long because the Tribes kept attacking the caravan, but they did bring a few interesting bargaining pieces before it went up in smoke. I paid attention.” 

“That’s when you came back.”

“Walked right into Monroe’s office and told him my uniform had better be clean.” 

Miles smiled. He could picture it in his mind, the way Alec would come in, unannounced and demand his rightful place in the fold. The way he imagined Bass’ face made his smile grow. 

“You were gone,” Alec continued, voice adopting a distant tone. “When I came back, no one would talk about it. Not even Jeremy. There were rumors though, lots of rumors. I think that hurt more than you sending me to Texas. Made me think it was all for nothing.”

“Alec - ”

“Let me finish,” Alec leveled him with a look, “You owe me that.”

Miles swallowed, but nodded. 

“A patrol had heard some drunk was refusing to leave one of the local bars. I get sent in to check it out, and there’s Monroe slumped over the bar, a bottle in each hand. Once I realized it was him, I threw everyone else out, told the owner I’d lock it up. Monroe, he looked up at me, got this silly smile on his face and said, ‘Miles taught you that. You sound just like him.’

“I took one of the bottles from him before he could stop me. ‘He left me, you know? Miles. One night, in my room, gun in his lap. Was going to shoot me dead.’ Monroe just spilled it out. I knew why no one talked about it. People who knew the truth knew there are some things you just don’t say. Rumors are better. Monroe kept looking at me. ‘He wants to think I’m the problem. If it brings him back, I’ll be the problem. I’m not him. He’s running from himself, from who he is, who he has  _ always _ been. Once he figures it out, he’ll be back. Maybe he’ll kill me then, but he’ll be back and he’ll fix everything.’ 

“Drunk men shouldn’t be that coherent, Miles. He believed every word he said that night. Is that what you did? Did you run away from yourself? Figure you’d do everyone a favor, save the Republic by leaving? Republic first?”

Miles felt the tears gather in his eyes. He wouldn’t let them fall, but he wasn’t too proud to admit they were there. Standing before Alec again, seeing the pain in the young man’s eyes, hearing the questions - the desperation to make sense of the choices he’d made. Miles didn’t owe anyone an explanation - except, maybe he did. 

“I always wondered why my father gave the knife to me and not to Ben. I let myself believe it was because I enlisted, I deployed. Something my father recognized, something Ben would never understand. When the lights went out, everything went to hell overnight. I made a choice. Then another, and another, and another. I was saving people, providing order in chaos,” Miles chuckled darkly. “My own family wouldn’t come with me though. They refused to live in the capital. I went to ask my brother, one last time...” 

“Hey,” Alec’s voice was soft as Miles watched him close the distance between them. Felt Alec wrap his arms around him. He couldn’t move. He remembered the last time he’d embraced Alec, the look of betrayal on his face as the guard dragged him from the room, the tears in the corners of his eyes. That image roused Miles from his frozen idiocy and he wrapped his arms around Alec’s back. 

“It doesn’t matter why you left,” Alec’s voice remained soft. “The way I figure it, we’ve all got our General Blanchard’s to deal with. Now that you’ve dealt with it, let yourself move on; be who you are, Miles.”

“When’d you stop being that idiot boy I found outside a bar?”

Alec pulled back enough to look Miles in the eye. “The moment I saw the pain on your face when you sent my ass to Texas.”

They both took the moment to just exist. The bond they’d formed year ago slowly finding its place again. Miles began to realize that nothing could or would be like it had been, but not everything remained lost. With a last pat on the shoulder, Miles pulled back. He walked to the sideboard and poured two drinks. 

“What does Bass have you doing?” 

Alec took glass Miles held out to him. “Nothing. I just got back from working some rebel intel. It was no good.”

Miles nodded. “I could use you here, if you’re interested.” 

Alec raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve got another idiot boy who could use some help growing into a soldier. He’s lost a lot because of the Militia. Been betrayed by the militia,” Miles paused. “Don’t give me that look, this isn’t a test. I just know you and Danny have some matching scars; he could use a friend. I could use some help getting intel out of a frustratingly tight lipped person.”

“You want me to train Danny.”

“Yup.”

“Other than our ‘matching scars’, and what kind of bullshit phrase is that, Miles. Why me?”

“Normally, I’d ask Tom, but as you might have heard, Tom’s part of the reason Ben’s dead. Can’t have Tom be the one to teach Danny counterintel. It wouldn't work.”

“Tom killed your brother? And he’s not dead?”

“Tom didn’t kill him. Some kid with a twitchy trigger finger did.”

“Still doesn’t explain why he’s not dead, too.” 

Miles sighed. “Tom’s one of the best officers I’ve got. He didn’t pull the trigger. I can’t afford to shoot him just because it’ll make me feel better. I can’t afford to lose loyal men with the skills and experience he has. Not with how unsteady things are, not with all the whispers about the power coming back. Danny wants to kill him though.”

“Are you going to let him?”

“I won’t stop him, but I won’t encourage him either. I’m hoping Danny sees the bigger picture, but he’s young. He didn’t know the world before the blackout. The militia was the boogeyman who came at night. Then they kill his father. I can’t stop him from taking a bit of his own back. Tom knows that.”

“There you are. That’s the General Matheson I know.” 

“Shut up.”   

“No, you need to hear this, Miles. That’s the man who sent my ass to Texas for screwing up an assignment that would have caused a war. That’s the brutal pragmatist who sacrifices his own emotions out of the decisions because it’s what needs to be done for the good of the Republic. The man who doesn’t shoot the guy responsible for his brother’s death, accidental or otherwise, because it would hurt the Republic? That’s the man I follow.” 

Alec poked Miles in the chest.

Miles met his gaze. 

“That’s the man I went to Texas for,” Alec paused. “That’s the man I came back to Philly to follow.”  

If only Ben could see this, could understand what he’d built. Maybe he wouldn't have believed he was such a monster. Maybe his brother would call him six types of fool for not shooting Tom Neville between the eyes. It was hard to know with Ben. Worse of all, he knew Alec was right. Just like he knew Bass was right, and Jeremy. Damn them all. His brother was dead; his family - he’d made his choice. The Republic, Bass - they were his family. They needed him to be General Matheson, and in weak moments he’d admit he’d missed being that man. Running a bar hadn’t worked to his strengths. He could be that man again. Since he’d come back he told himself he’d chosen, he’d decided. Miles lied to himself sometimes, too. No more though. General Miles Matheson was a necessary result of the world his brother helped create. 

Miles took a drink. “Look, my family - my brother, his bitch of a wife, they knew about the power going out; they were part of it. It’s all a bit close to home. My brother left something with Aaron, probably the most useless man alive, something important. I need to know what it is.”

“Strausser?” 

Miles raised an eyebrow. “Too much. I want intel, not a corpse.” 

“You thought Monroe was crazy about the power, obsessed you said.” 

“I did. He is. I don’t care about the power. But, since there’s a way to bring it back, I need to know. I need to control that. Because if someone gets to it before us, we’re all dead.” 

Miles watched Alec take all the information and process it. Sort through it, file it, plot a course of action. He remembered spending hours with Alec, putting him through scenarios, giving him information and expecting solutions. Never one. One is never enough; one solution means you’re dead. Alec proved to be a natural. He devised solutions Miles never would have imagined. 

“You think Danny can get through to this Aaron without killing him.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay.” 

“After graduation, he’ll report to you. I need answers quickly.”

“I’ll get you the answers you need, Miles.”

“I know.” 

Alec stood to leave. He pulled the out knife the once again, held it to Miles. “This belongs with a Matheson.”

Miles covered his hand, pushed the knife back to Alec. “It is.” 

“Miles - ”

“Don’t fight me on this, Alec.”

“You’re a stubborn bastard, you know?”

Miles laughed. “It’s good to have you home, Captain.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, lemme know what you see.


End file.
